


Breathe Together

by tookumade



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Established Relationship, M/M, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:16:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7544707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tookumade/pseuds/tookumade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The first time they held hands, both Oikawa and Iwaizumi were five years old. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tooruful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tooruful/gifts).



> Hope you enjoy this, misshyssop! :D

The first time they held hands, both Oikawa and Iwaizumi were five years old.  
  
Their mothers had introduced them on a warm Sunday afternoon at a local park. Iwaizumi had grabbed Oikawa’s hand with all the familiarity of life-long friends and yelled something about the playground, and then unceremoniously hauled him away, with Oikawa stumbling to keep up and stuttering for him to slow down. Iwaizumi’s hands then were small and still soft, and Oikawa’s never really quite forgotten the feel of them.  
  
He supposes that since that day, they’ve never really ever let go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[ Aoba Jousai High School: Gymnasium Locker Rooms ]**

  
Of all the things Oikawa is most grateful for, successfully dragging Iwaizumi into volleyball ranks amongst the highest (alongside his family and Iwaizumi himself and volleyball itself, so Iwaizumi _and_ volleyball together has to be pretty damn highly-ranked by default).  
  
Growing up and playing volleyball together means that Oikawa has had the privilege of seeing Iwaizumi improve and become the ace everyone knows him as. From his clumsy spikes when they had just started learning about what volleyball was, to the powerful missiles he has learned to hit; from his small, soft palms, to the rough but reliable hands toughened from years of practice and wins and defeats—hands that Oikawa knows almost as well as his own. To know Iwaizumi like this has always been a quietly-cherished privilege that Oikawa wouldn’t trade for the world—a privilege in the tenderness and familiarity that they’ve never lost in the way they tape each others’ fingers and run cool hands over palms stinging from hitting too many spikes.  
  
Growing up and playing volleyball together means that on the court, they understand everything about each other, but it _also_ means that during practice matches between their own players, Oikawa and Iwaizumi are often split up.  
  
“You two playing on opposite sides means that you get to look at things from an opponent’s point of view,” Matsukawa says when Oikawa complains about this in the locker room after one such practice. “You get to see where you’re each strong and weak, and how opponents might deal with all that. We need that sort of thing for proper matches.”  
  
“Plus,” Hanamaki adds, “you’re both so in-sync with each other, that if you’re on the same team, you’ll just lay everyone else to waste.”  
  
“That too,” Matsukawa agrees with a nod.  
  
“That’s the nicest thing we’ve ever said about them.”  
  
“Gross. Let’s never do that again.”  
  
Oikawa makes a noise of discontent, but pulls on his jacket without arguing.  
  
“You already know all this, dumbass,” says Iwaizumi, giving Oikawa’s head an affectionate little push.  
  
“Yeah,” says Oikawa with a sigh as he zips up his jacket, “but it’d be nice to lay everyone to waste every now and then, wouldn’t it?”  
  
“ _Wow_ ,” say Hanamaki and Matsukawa indignantly and in perfect unison. Iwaizumi snorts with laughter.  
  
“It would,” he says. “We should ask Irihata-san if we can do that at next training.”  
  
Oikawa’s face lights up. “Yeah!”  
  
“ _Sadists_ ,” say Hanamaki and Matsukawa, pulling faces at each other as they shoulder their bags.  
  
“You’re setting a terrible example for our juniors,” says Hanamaki. “ _Kunimi_ will learn from you!”  
  
“I think he already has,” says Matsukawa, pretending to wipe a tear away.  
  
After a few more minutes of banter and saying their goodbyes to their juniors for the day, Matsukawa and Hanamaki finally leave the gymnasium, leaving Oikawa and Iwaizumi to lock up. Despite already changing out of their gym clothes, Oikawa is tempted to ask for another hour of extra practice, but he knows Iwaizumi would refuse; it’s late and their training session had been particularly rigorous and everyone was tired, and Iwaizumi, more than anyone else on the team with the arguable exception of the staff, always constantly insisted that every member made sure they were properly rested and not overdoing things.  
  
Oikawa contents himself with falling closely into step beside Iwaizumi as they exit the school grounds in comfortable silence, elbows bumping each other’s lightly.  
  
“Seriously though,” says Oikawa after a while, “I want to talk to Irihata-san about not splitting us up so much. We don’t have a whole lot of time left to play volleyball together in high school, and I want to make the most of it.”  
  
Iwaizumi slows down a pace and gently kicks his backside to a yelp of surprise and protest from Oikawa. “Don’t talk like that. You sound like you’re going to get rid of me after high school.”  
  
“That’s not what I meant!” says Oikawa, rounding on him. “I just like playing volleyball together!”  
  
“I _know_.” Iwaizumi reaches out and ruffles his hair, and Oikawa swats him away with a grumble. “But you know that no matter how often we get split up, it won’t matter, right? You’re not getting rid of me _that_ easily, so it won’t make a difference.”  
  
Oikawa manages to grab onto Iwaizumi’s hand and stops his attack on his hair. “Mm.”  
  
“You know that, right?” Iwaizumi presses.  
  
“Of course I do.”  
  
“So?”  
  
“So what?”  
  
“So why are you talking like that?”  
  
Oikawa shrugs and entwines their fingers together. “I just want to play volleyball with you as often as I can, that’s all. We could be eighty years old and using walking aids, and I would still want to play volleyball with you. I want to lay waste to everyone when we’re eighty, and everyone will know us as the Super Oldies Combo, and—”  
  
Iwaizumi laughs. “Now I’m imagining you at eighty years old—”  
  
“Don’t you dare!”  
  
“—with grey hair and wrinkles and—”  
  
“ _Iwa-chan!_ ”  
  
“—everything would still be the same. We’d still be exactly the same.”  
  
And with that, he pulls Oikawa close and tilts his head up and presses a small kiss to the corner of his lips. Oikawa tries to pout, but eventually succumbs to a smile and ducks his head in embarrassment as he squeezes Iwaizumi’s hand a little.  
  
“Yeah, okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Okay, fine.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[ Bus, from Tohoku University ]**

Their practice session against Tohoku University’s volleyball team ends with three closely matched sets, but Aoba Jousai ultimately loses each one. Oikawa leads his team in their bows and thanks to their opponents, and manages to keep up his chipper attitude all the way through the clean-up and changing out of their uniforms in the locker rooms, to ensuring all the club members are filed onto the bus to take them back to school. It’s only when he takes his seat next to Iwaizumi near the front (“ _Get a room, you two!_ ” Hanamaki hollers from somewhere down the back) and the bus begins to pull out of the university grounds, that his façade finally drops and he sighs.  
  
“It’s not that I can’t guess, but what’s up?” Iwaizumi says as he nudges him.  
  
Oikawa’s lips twist in thought for a moment. “We played good sets today,” he says slowly, “but we didn’t win a single one. We're getting stronger and we look good, but… we need _more_. At this rate, it'll be like the Inter-High all over again."  
  
Iwaizumi makes a vague humming noise.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
“We just finished a long practice session, and it’s like you said: we played well," Iwaizumi answers, quietly enough that only Oikawa can hear him. "We'll talk it over in more detail at Saturday’s training, but for now, get some rest and don't overthink things."  
  
"But—"  
  
"You know I'm right. We’ll be fine. We’ll get there.”  
  
Oikawa makes a noise of dissent but slumps in his seat so he can comfortably use Iwaizumi's shoulder as a pillow. "Fine. Wake me up when we’re back to school."  
  
"As opposed to _leave you on the bus,_ I guess."  
  
"I'll whine _so much_ that you'll _personally carry me_ next time."  
  
"You'll whine regardless."  
  
" _Hey!_ ”  
  
They break out into a very brief and half-hearted swatting match before Oikawa gives a mock-annoyed huff, folds his arms across his chest, rests his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder again, and closes his eyes.  
  
Saturday’s training comes and goes, and their practice match is discussed with thorough detail. There’s a sort of restless air about the team that Oikawa isn’t sure whether to attribute to the defeat or the sleepiness of a Saturday morning, and he could swear the other third years are more subdued than usual; even Hanamaki and Matsukawa look a little more tired than they usually do (“They look _exactly the same_ to me,” says Iwaizumi flatly).  
  
They begin their warm-ups, and then go through spiking drills. Oikawa practices his own spikes for a while before moving off to give pointers to the some of the first-years. Whilst doing so, he tries to ignore the other spikers and focus on his juniors, but it’s hard, especially whenever it’s Iwaizumi’s turn. He’s always had this problem: every time Iwaizumi spikes and the echoing of the ball slamming against the timber floor fills the stadium, Oikawa swears he can feel it in his chest as well—a steady beat, and so, _so alive._  
  
They’ve always had a certain sound to them that differs from all the (many, many, many) other spikes Oikawa has heard over his lifetime. He's never mentioned this to anyone else, partially because they probably wouldn't believe him or wouldn’t understand, partially because they never listen closely enough, and partially because it's a little secret that Oikawa admittedly likes to keep to himself.  
  
He wouldn't mind being given a few minutes of his time to just sit back, close his eyes, and listen to the sounds of Iwaizumi's spikes—the melody they make, like a one-man orchestra if Oikawa was feeling particularly poetic—but given the company that he keeps (he hardly trusts Matsukawa and Hanamaki with his eyes wide open, let alone closed) and the fact that Iwaizumi might actually spike a ball his way just to snap him out of his reverie, _and_ the fact that he might simply accidentally get hit in the face by someone else due to the standard occupational hazards of volleyball, it's unfortunately impossible.  
  
Oikawa tears his eyes away from Iwaizumi, claps his hands sharply, and directs the club members onto the next training drill.  
  
The next time Oikawa is at the school gymnasium is the following Monday afternoon. He had bumped into Yuda and asked if he had seen Iwaizumi, only to be told that he was training, which was unusual given that Mondays are the volleyball club’s rest days, and the gymnasium is usually occupied by the girls’ basketball team then. Wait, no—didn’t the girls’ team get invited to a practice match with another school today? _Hmm…_  
  
Making his way towards the gymnasium, Oikawa can already hear someone inside, practising spikes. Even without anyone telling him so, from the years and years they've spent together, he already knows that it's Iwaizumi, but the sounds of his spikes are _different_ this time, and Oikawa can't put his finger on it.

Wait, yes he can—if Iwaizumi was practising spikes, then who was tossing to him? There didn’t sound like a second person inside.  
  
With a little frown, he pokes his head through the door and sees Iwaizumi toss a ball into the air in front of him and then break into a short run and—  
  
_Jump serves?_  
  
—he hits the ball, and it sails right into the middle of the net in a fast, powerful shot and _what the hell, since when did Iwa-chan know how to jump serve?!_  
  
"Oh, shit, you saw that?" Iwaizumi says, jolting Oikawa out of his daze. "When did you get here?"  
  
"Just then. And that wasn't too bad," Oikawa remarks, eyes wide. "Your run-up was pretty good!"  
  
"No need to look _that_ surprised."  
  
"That's not what I meant! Why do you have to be that way, Iwa-chan?!"  
  
Iwaizumi gives a scoff but he is smiling a little, dryly, as he retrieves another ball from the nearby cart. He makes a second jump serve but his hand doesn’t quite meet the ball right, and it hits the net with much less power. He tries again, and the ball slams straight into the floor of the court, under the net this time. He sighs and picks up another. Oikawa clasps his hands behind him and watches patiently.  
  
"Hanamaki... he's already started practising jump serves,” says Iwaizumi after a restless pause, spinning the volleyball in his hands whilst steadfastly avoiding Oikawa's eyes. “It turns out, he was practising with Matsukawa right before Saturday's training, and there's no way in hell I'm losing to him. Anyway, I've seen enough jump serves to get the gist of it.”  
  
Oikawa blinks. "You..."  
  
“It’s hard enough just trying to get it over the net, though. I have no idea how I’m going to work on aim—”  
  
"Iwa-chan—"  
  
"—so you'll have to show me." Iwaizumi bounces the ball against the floor, as if to end his sentence. He does it again and again, collecting his thoughts with an increasingly furrowed brow, before continuing: “We can’t just stay like this. Not if we want to win. We have to keep getting better. It’s like you said: we need _more_. I can’t just rely on my spikes in a game, so I’m… I’m trying this. A new weapon.”  
  
He finally looks up at Oikawa, and it’s only then that Oikawa realises that he had been holding his breath. He exhales softly, arms falling by his sides.  
  
“Your jump serves,” says Iwaizumi. “They have a sort of rhythm to them, you know? Like a… _song_ or something. I can’t explain it, but no one jump serves like you. Anyway, I’m trying to imitate that. I don’t think I’ll be able to hit them in the way that you do, but I think I can at least get them good enough that we can use them to help us win. So… teach me. Show me how to make my jump serve a weapon, like yours.”  
  
And he looks away again and returns to bouncing the ball against the floor as his words hang in the afternoon air. Oikawa watches him silently. There’s a familiar feeling in his chest, and he quickly recognises it as the feeling he gets whenever he watches Iwaizumi spike—that _life_ , that _power_ , that beautiful privilege of seeing him grow and evolve, of moving forward together. A melody, _a song_. An orchestra.  
  
“When you serve,” says Oikawa quietly, and Iwaizumi’s eyes flicker towards him, “you tend to hit the ball downwards a little too much, which is why your serves aren’t making it over the net. You’re probably too used to spiking, but you can’t really treat a jump serve like a spike, so you’ll need to work on that. It's a lot of practise and trial and error."  
  
“And we know plenty about that.”  
  
They grin at each other.  
  
"Ready, then?" says Oikawa.  
  
"Show me," says Iwaizumi.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[ Aoba Jousai High School, School Festival: Arm Wrestling Competition Room ]**

  
There’s a loud chorus of “ _OOOOH_ ” as Hanamaki takes a seat opposite Iwaizumi and they prop their elbows up on the tabletop. Oikawa, leaning against the doorframe, rolls his eyes with a little smile as his friends grin at each other in an almost sadistic sort of way and join hands, before someone says, “ _Ready… go!_ ” and they begin their arm wrestle—a relatively popular event at their annual school festival in which Iwaizumi currently holds the title of undefeated champion.  
  
Oikawa feels someone nudge him lightly in the ribs before he sees Matsukawa joining him by the entrance.  
  
“Why don’t you give it a try?” he murmurs. “Break them both. There’s too much ego in this room.”  
  
Oikawa snickers and quietly replies, “I wouldn’t last a second against Iwa-chan or Makki.”  
  
“That’s complete bullshit, and you know it.”  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Mattsun. Hey, why don’t _you_ try? You could easily give them a run for their money.”  
  
“Don’t change the subject,” says Matsukawa. “And hell no I can’t.”  
  
“Have some faith in yourself, Mattsun!”  
  
“In the off-chance that I _did_ manage to beat either one of them, do you really think they’d be capable of sulking for less than two hours?”  
  
Oikawa purses his lips together in an effort to keep from cracking up. “Fair point,” he wheezes after a moment of struggling.  
  
“But you know, if you purposely lost against them but acted like it was real, that might give them _even more_ of an ego-boost, and that _might_ actually be helpful for volleyball morale,” Matsukawa adds. A tiny, knowing smile crosses his lips. “Or… maybe that would only fool Hanamaki.”  
  
“I still have no idea what you mean.” But by the small smile on Oikawa’s face, he does. Oikawa then gives a mock-dramatic sigh and a wave of his hand and adds, "And anyway, I promised Yanagi-chan that I'd help out at the café soon, so I can't risk getting myself injured, can I? The café would lose sales!"  
  
Matsukawa grins. “Oh no, how could I _ever_ argue with that?”  
  
Their attention is briefly diverted by a stream of swearing from Hanamaki as Iwaizumi manages to push his hand down very slightly.  
  
“Muscleheads,” Oikawa murmurs so only Matsukawa can hear. Matsukawa snickers into his fist. “Hey, what do you think, Mattsun? Will it be Makki's day today?"  
  
"No," says Matsukawa with so little hesitation that Oikawa snorts with laughter. "Look: he's cracking but Iwaizumi's still holding strong. Iwaizumi’s got that sadistic look he has whenever he knows he's about to win against a friend. No, Hanamaki’s reached his limit. He might get there eventually, but not today."  
  
"So little faith! You sound even more defeated than Makki will be."  
  
"Because regardless of the outcome, I'm going to be the price of a bowl of ramen out of pocket." At Oikawa's raised eyebrows, Matsukawa continues: "I told Hanamaki that if he won, then I'd treat him to congratulations-ramen. Otherwise, if he lost—"  
  
"Consolation-ramen?"  
  
"Consolation-ramen." Matsukawa nods and sighs. "I'm the real loser here. I don't know why I agreed. Why am I friends with them?"  
  
Oikawa makes a humming noise. “Because we all really enjoy ramen lunches with friends, and it's our third year, meaning that we should hang out as much as possible and cherish our time together?”  
  
“That’s…” Matsukawa squints at him. “Urgh. Yes, but _urgh_."  
  
"If you _really_ minded, then you would've flat-out refused. Isn't that right, Mattsun?"  
  
"Shut up." But Matsukawa is smiling and Oikawa is snickering. "You're probably right, but I'll think about the semantics later. Let me wallow in self-pity first."  
  
At that moment, Hanamaki finally loses to Iwaizumi ("That was _so_ not the hundred-and-twelfth time, you jackasses!") in a storm of cheering and pats on shoulders (congratulatory for Iwaizumi; sympathetic for Hanamaki). Matsukawa is laughing as Hanamaki playfully bumps into him, unable to be convincing in his attempts at sulking; Iwaizumi is grinning victoriously and rolling his shoulder gingerly, ready for his next challenge; Oikawa looks at the clock hanging on the wall opposite him and with a small, fond smile, quietly slips out of the room unnoticed to go and help out at the café.  
  
The school festival ends with reasonably little drama, and by the time everything has been packed up and the school grounds are cleaned and attendees are finally leaving, the sun is already setting.  
  
"I'm so hungry, I could eat an _entire restaurant’s worth_ of ramen," Hanamaki says with a loud sigh.  
  
"Is that a hint?" says Matsukawa  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Subtle."  
  
"Hey guys, Matsukawa's gonna treat me to ramen—"  
  
"Consolation-ramen."  
  
"—he's going to treat me to _a regular bowl of ramen,_ so wanna come along?"  
  
“Pass," Iwaizumi and Oikawa say in perfect unison.  
  
"Killjoys," says Hanamaki before Matsukawa elbows him sharply in the ribs.  
  
"They want some _alone time,_ dumbass,” he stage-whispers.  
  
"Oh," says Hanamaki. And then, "Oh, _right_."  
  
"Oh my god," says Iwaizumi. "It's not that big of a deal, you gu—“  
  
" _Byeeeee!_ "  
  
And with that, Matsukawa hauls Hanamaki down the street, and they quickly disappear from view around the corner. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and looks back at Oikawa, who had been watching their friends run off with a little smile on his face.  
  
“Come on,” says Iwaizumi. “I want to get something to eat too.”  
  
“We could go to Kaneda’s for agedashi tofu,” Oikawa suggests. “Celebrate you being undefeated for another year.”  
  
“You know I’ll never say no to that. _But first—_ ”  
  
Oikawa turns and sees Iwaizumi veer off and head towards an unoccupied table outside the nearby convenience store they walked past every day going to and from school. He drags two chairs over and sits in one, rolls up his sleeves and brings his arm to rest on the table top, ready for an arm wrestle.  
  
“Iwa-chan—”  
  
“Come on, come on,” says Iwaizumi impatiently, pointing to the seat opposite him with his free hand. “We don’t have all day.”  
  
Oikawa doesn’t move. “How are you not tired? You arm-wrestled _heaps_ of people today.”  
  
“I was only doing that for about an hour, and I’ve had plenty of rest since then. Come on, stop wasting time.”  
  
“ _I’m_ not the one wasting time here.”  
  
“Oikawa.” A dry, knowing smile spreads across Iwaizumi’s face. “It’s been years since we last arm-wrestled, and I know you’re definitely not afraid of losing.”  
  
Oikawa raises his eyebrows. “Meaning I’m afraid of... what, winning?”  
  
Iwaizumi’s smile just widens. Oikawa gives a huff of laughter, drops his bag onto to the ground, and takes the seat opposite him. He mirrors Iwaizumi and they join hands, palms fitting together in a very different way to holding hands on a date, holding hands during a quiet afternoon, holding hands just because they want to.  
  
“Ready?” says Iwaizumi quietly.  
  
“One,” says Oikawa, “two, three—”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[ Riverside, Near Aoba Jousai High School ]**

  
There’s a small mention of Karasuno in the latest _Monthly Volleyball._ The article talks very generally about high school volleyball in Miyagi, and Karasuno are mentioned merely once in name only, with a bigger focus given to Aoba Jousai and Shiratorizawa. For any other reader, it’s hardly something that would cause any fuss.  
  
But given that it’s _Karasuno_ , it gets talked about within the Aoba Jousai volleyball club with a hushed sort of fervour, a slightly nervous sort of eagerness. Karasuno's mention, small as it is, reminds them that they are here, strong, and enough of a threat to their opponents that even a major magazine would take notice. Oikawa goes about things with his usual airy and cheerful attitude and even throws in a few moments of over-the-top sulking whenever Karasuno is brought up around him, but it’s clear to his closest friends that there’s a little more to it.  
  
Matsukawa and Hanamaki… they know him well—the best after Iwaizumi, though that’s hardly a fair comparison—but not well enough to be able to ask and draw an honest answer out of him. Iwaizumi notices the glances they exchange when they think no one else is looking, and makes a note to talk to Oikawa. Oikawa—because nothing ever escapes him—notices Iwaizumi noticing Matsukawa and Hanamaki noticing something is amiss, and knows that he’s never been able to hide very much from his best friend.  
  
Their walk home after practice is quiet. They have their moments like these, when Oikawa isn’t chattering about the delicious things his fanclub had baked him that day or about an upcoming match he’s confident they’ll win, and there’s something to be said about appreciating the more comfortable and content ones, but they both also know that today’s quiet walk is not really one of those moments.  
  
As one unit, unspoken and merely with a quick glance at each other, they make a left at the convenience store up ahead instead of their usual right, and two minutes later, they are seated by the nearby riverbank, legs stretched out before them and bags tossed aside.  
  
They spend another minute in silence. There is a light, cool breeze blowing around them, and Oikawa is plucking at the grass and letting the loose blades scatter in the wind as he waits for Iwaizumi.  
  
“Are you thinking about Kageyama?” Iwaizumi asks at last.  
  
“Hm… no, not Tobio,” says Oikawa slowly. “Not Karasuno. Me.”  
  
There are moments to joke how _ah, but isn’t everything about you?_ but this isn’t one. Iwaizumi stays silent and simply waits as Oikawa collect his thoughts.  
  
“The article in _Monthly Volleyball_ reminded me about it today, but I’ve been thinking about this way before it,” Oikawa continues. “Maybe it was after the Inter-High match with Karasuno? Well, it’s… I worked so hard in volleyball because I was scared of Tobio catching up to me. That’s partially why I’m here today. But sometimes I think, would I have worked as hard if I _hadn’t_ met Tobio?”  
  
“Of course you would have,” says Iwaizumi without hesitation. Oikawa has his mouth open, ready to continue with his next sentence. He closes it and stares at Iwaizumi impassively for a while.  
  
“You really think so,” says Oikawa—a statement rather than a question.  
  
It’s Iwaizumi’s turn to pluck at the blades of grass. “Obviously,” he says. “Look: Kageyama was one factor, but he’s not the only one. You’re a stubborn guy, and you’ll never really be content with just… _being there,_ you know? You hate staying in one place, and you’re always looking for something to aim for—you’ve always been like that, and I think that’s something that will never change about you. But that’s _all you._ That has nothing to do with Kageyama.”  
  
"What about Ushiwaka?" says Oikawa. "Do you think it's the same for him as well? That we would've worked as hard if we weren't trying to beat him, too?"  
  
When Iwaizumi raises his eyebrows at him, Oikawa smiles a little and looks down at his hands.  
  
"Yeah," he says quietly. "You're right."  
  
“It’s really as simple as that, you know.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Iwaizumi reaches out and takes Oikawa’s hands in his own. Oikawa’s not sure whose skin is rougher; he thinks it’s Iwaizumi’s, tough and calloused from all his years of playing volleyball and all the hours he’s spent acting as a highly in-demand helper player in so many other sport clubs and activities, but Oikawa’s own hands have been through their own countless hours of battles—many of which were shared with Iwaizumi.  
  
He supposes that it doesn’t really matter, then.  
  
"Old age must be getting to you," Iwaizumi chides. "You're blabbering on like you're eighty-one, not eighteen. What the hell?"  
  
Oikawa gives a dramatic sigh. “I think I need something to replenish my youth. Something like strawberry ice-cream. With sprinkles and mochi bits. Treated by my best friend."  
  
"What best friend?"  
  
" _Hey now."_ Oikawa yanks one hand away and grabs some blades of grass and throws it at him. “Is that something to say to someone who loves you as much as I do?!”  
  
Iwaizumi scoffs. “Given how often I’ve had to deal with—”  
  
“Don’t—”  
  
“—you over the years, I think I—”  
  
“ _You’re_ —”  
  
“—might be the one who loves you more.”  
  
“You _suck_.”  
  
But Oikawa is grinning as Iwaizumi’s warm hands curl around his cooler ones, and they fall into an amicable silence for a while. Now, it’s comfortable, easy, and honest—Oikawa thinks that if he could spend the rest of his life like this, he’d be okay with that.  
  
(He can’t, and Iwaizumi’s right: he hates staying in one place.)  
  
“I’m… grateful, you know,” says Oikawa. “I’m really grateful I get to play volleyball with you. And I guess Tobio and Ushiwaka are part of the reasons I’m able to… but I also really hate being indebted to them. _Urgh_.”  
  
Iwaizumi snorts. “So don’t think of it as a debt, then.”  
  
“Hm… yeah.” Oikawa pauses, and then the smile on his face turns somewhat devious. “They’re more like _stepping stones,_ aren’t they?”  
  
“You’re _terrible_.” But Iwaizumi can’t hold a mock-annoyed face for long as the two dissolve into soft laughter. He reaches out to half-cuff half-ruffle Oikawa’s hair. “Come on. If you’re done acting like an old man, then let’s go.”  
  
And they stand slowly, brushing the stray bits of grass clinging to their pants, nudging each other as they make their way back onto the street.  
  
“I still want ice cream,” says Oikawa hopefully.  
  
Iwaizumi laughs, slightly exasperated, but soft and fond. Honest as he tries to be in front of others—perhaps subconsciously learnt as a contrast to everything Oikawa tries to hide—it’s a face he doesn’t often get a chance to show other people, but Oikawa brings it out of him often enough that this sort of give-and-take has become a special thing that the two of them almost exclusively share.  
  
That’s another thing he’s grateful for, Oikawa thinks. It’s another privilege.  
  
“Fine,” says Iwaizumi. “Let's get ice cream.”  
  
“With extra mochi bits?”  
  
“Extra mochi bits.”  
  
“And—”  
  
“Yeah, yeah.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

**[ Aoba Jousai High School: Classroom 3-5 ]**

  
It’s after school—late enough that the sun has begun to set—and very few students not part of a club or team are still lingering. Oikawa had been the last student to have an appointment with the careers counsellor that day, and Iwaizumi had been waiting for him in his empty homeroom, seated at his desk and resting on the table top with his head pillowed against his folded arms. Oikawa enters the classroom to see him there, dozing peacefully, and he smiles a little. He sits in the chair in front of Iwaizumi’s desk and touches his hand gently.  
  
Despite how much they’ve changed over the years as they grew up together, there is a softness about Iwaizumi’s hands that Oikawa thinks maybe only he knows, reminiscent of the days when they were still five or not much older and running around playgrounds on warm Sunday afternoons. And fittingly, there is a softness about _Iwaizumi_ underneath all that roughness that the world sees so easily and so quickly—the softness that constantly has him worrying about his friends and teammates; that softness that causes him to cry after losing important volleyball matches; the kind of softness where it’s nearly impossible for him to say no to people who need a hand; that softness about Iwaizumi amidst the roughness that sees him headbutt Oikawa when he’s being too silly, but just as quickly knows when something is off, and gently pulls Oikawa apart at the seams so he can carefully stitch him back together—stronger, _better_.  
  
It’s been years since they first met, but Oikawa knows this softness about Iwaizumi will probably never change.

He laces their fingers together and notes for what is maybe the thousandth time how easily their hands fit into place, but before he can indulge himself with this line of thinking, Iwaizumi’s hand curls around his own and brings him back down to earth.

“Have you been here long?” Iwaizumi asks in a sleepy mumble, opening a bleary eye and looking up at him.  
  
“Not that long,” Oikawa replies. Iwaizumi squeezes his hand slightly.  
  
“Ready to go home?”  
  
Oikawa hums and runs his thumb down Iwaizumi’s hand. “I guess.”  
  
“We can stay here a little longer.”  
  
They could—stay like this until a teacher kicks them out of the classroom and sends them home; stay like this as if their time together is rare and running out for the both of them.  
  
They can’t. And it’s not. They’ve really never been the type to stay still, both of them. And Oikawa could wax poetic about every little thing that the two of them share, but what the hell, he has so many chances to do that, and that would also never change. Today is one afternoon of many, and they can do this again tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, or—  
  
“No, it’s okay,” says Oikawa with a little smile. “Let’s go home.”  
  
And with hands held with all the familiarity of life-long friends, they do.

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
